Counting Stars
by theclarinetchica
Summary: After The Hounds of Baskervilles, John has trouble sleeping. Sherlock helps.


Well, I'm back. Many thanks to MrsNoggin for beta'ing. Inspiration for the story and title taken from the song Counting Stars by OneRepublic

* * *

 _Lately I been, I been losing sleep_

 _Dreaming about the things that we could be_

 _But baby, I been, I been prayin' hard_

 _Said no more counting dollars_

 _We'll be counting stars_

 _Yeah, we'll be counting stars_

John woke with a start, the memory of the hound haunting his dreams. He was hot, far hotter than he should have been. Turning over, he met with Sherlock's warm body. In his sleep, John had forgotten that they were sharing a small bed. Sherlock looked softer in his sleep, John realised. Quickly moving from that line of thinking, he wished he had his own bed. It really was unfortunate that the only room available was a single queen bed. He had offered to take the floor, but Sherlock had scoffed and told John that he was being ridiculous. John had been fighting his own growing feelings for the other man, and sharing a bed with him was definitely awakening them.

John slid out of bed, taking care not to wake the detective. Dressing quickly, he left as quietly as he could and made his way into the cool night air. He stood on the sidewalk and admired the night sky. It was a clear night, the stars dotting the heavens.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

John whirled around, finding Sherlock behind him, head turned up. His hair was mussed from sleep, and John wished he could run his fingers through it, straightening the curls. He still had his pyjama pants and t-shirt still on underneath his coat.

"I thought you didn't care about astronomy," John finally said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, preventing them from reaching for Sherlock.

"That doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. We don't get to see this in London."

"Very true." John smiled softly. "I miss this."

"Hmm?"

"When I was in primary school, my dad used to take me camping. He showed me the different constellations. It was one of the few times I was truly happy as a kid."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock offered, sounding almost sad.

"It's fine. I mean- I've come to terms with it. Now I just try to focus on the good times, rather than the bad."

They meandered down the street in a comfortable silence, enjoying one another's company, the crisp night air, and the gingerbread looking houses. John had always figured he would settle down and move out of the city, to a house like the ones lining the pavement. It seemed such a foreign dream now; his future currently included only Sherlock, even if their relationship never evolved beyond friendship.

When they reached the edge of the village, Sherlock grabbed John's hand, towing him up a nearby hill.

"What are you doing?"

"I want you to show me the stars," Sherlock said, apparently unaware of the double meaning of the phrase. John swallowed, stamping down on the burst of excitement at those words.

"The grass is damp," he pointed out when they reached the top of the hill. The whole situation was making him feel awkward, and he was still slightly grumpy from lack of sleep.

Sherlock frowned for a moment before shucking off his Belstaff.

"But… your coat," John protested feebly.

"I'll have it cleaned when we get back to London. Come on," he said, patting the spot next to him invitingly.

John sat, Sherlock's closeness making his heart beat faster. He berated himself for acting like a teenage girl- he was an adult for God's sake. They laid back, taking in the cosmos above them.

"Well," Sherlock said dryly after a few moments.

"A chance to teach something to the great Sherlock Holmes?" John chuckled.

"Shut up," was the sullen reply.

"See those three stars?"

"Where?"

John leaned in, pointing out the stars to Sherlock. "Those are Orion's belt. Take a look, see if you can see where the rest of Orion is."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments before sighing. "I don't see it, John."

He leaned in closer, his head right next to Sherlock's. "Those three bright ones right there. And the two below are his legs. Those six stars are his bow."

"Which ones?" Sherlock asked. John realised that he would have to get closer. He pressed in closer, squishing his face against Sherlock's.

"Those three."

"I think I see it. The two large stars are his body?"

"Yes!" John exclaimed, a little too loud in the silence of the night. He was excited that he could teach Sherlock something- it was a rare opportunity.

Sherlock turned his head, locking John's gaze with his own. The smile on his face was the rare one he seemed to reserve for John alone. "Thank you. For everything."

John was confused. "What do you mean?"

"For being patient. For not leaving when I… drugged you. For being my friend." Sherlock moved forward the few inches between them, hovering a few centimeters away from John.

"Is this okay?" he asked, sounding slightly hesitant. In John's dreams, Sherlock had always been so sure of himself when they kissed. Hearing the insecurity in his voice only made John want him even more.

"Yes, very much so," John answered quietly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. Smiling shyly, he brushed his lips against Sherlock's. The kiss was slow and sweet, a moment frozen in time.

Suddenly, John found himself on his back, underneath the younger man who was propped up on his hands and knees. John could feel the heat from Sherlock's body he was so close. However, they weren't touching, which drove John mad. His bottom lip was between Sherlock's teeth and he moaned, turned on by the complete attention of the genius. Sherlock flicked a tongue against his lips, silently begging for entrance to John's mouth. John yielded, allowing Sherlock to lick into him gently, exploring with a care John hadn't know the detective possessed.

"John, John, John" Sherlock chanted, in between kisses. His roughened voice sent a shock of arousal coursing through John, who was suddenly aware of a tightening in his jeans.

John jumped when Sherlock palmed his growing erection, startled at his forwardness.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." Sherlock fumbled at the button on John's jeans, but John couldn't help him- he was too busy working at the tie to Sherlock's pyjamas.

Sherlock's breath hissed out as John wrapped his hand around his length, sweeping his thumb across the swollen head of the younger man's cock. He reached down to pump his fist along John's erection, keeping time with John's strokes. The thrill of something so illicit as getting off outside was intensifying the experience, making John's heart pound as the sound of their panting filled the air.

"Oh fuck," John whimpered, loving the ministrations of Sherlock's long fingers. He could only imagine what they would feel like inside him, filling him, stretching him. The thought pushed him closer to the edge, feeling the burn of his impending orgasm spread through his abdomen.

Sherlock came first, his body stiffening as his orgasm ripped through him. John was grateful they were so far away from the village- he was pretty sure Sherlock's shout could be heard in London. John followed him soon after, his body shaking as he rode out the aftershocks. It was one of the most intense orgasms he had experienced in a long time.

"Wow," John said, dazed, "Just… wow."

"My sentiments exactly," Sherlock replied, pressing a tender kiss against John's forehead.

As John drifted back to reality, he noticed how sticky he was- covered in both of their come. Sherlock must have realised the same thing, because he was taking off his t-shirt and beginning to wipe up the mess.

"Aren't you cold?" John asked.

"A bit," Sherlock admitted, "but I was rather hoping we could move this back to our hotel room."

"Oh." Something delicious thudded in John's abdomen, but he pushed it away. The thought that this was just a one-time thing suddenly occurred to him, and it terrified John. He didn't know if he would be able to go back to how they were before- now that he had a taste of it, he didn't want to let it go.

A worried look crossed Sherlock's face and John realised he had been silent too long. "Sherlock, I need to know- is this something that will continue when we get back to London? Or is it just some kind of one-night stand?"

"John," Sherlock began, his deep voice sending a shiver down John's spine, "What do you want? Because I'll let you know right now, I have no intention of letting you go."

"Thank God. I was afraid you… well, I know you don't do relationships."

"I'm willing to try, for you." Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "John, savor this moment, because this is the only time you will hear this from me. I've wanted you since you shot the cabbie for me. I've wanted you every day since. And as I said before, now that I've experienced you, I plan on never letting you go. I know I've said that sentiment is a chemical defect, but all of that goes out the window when it concerns you. You make me lose control in all the right ways."

John paused, taking a shaky breath after such an intense statement. "I love you too, you big sap." He grinned. John leaned in for a kiss, gently brushing his lips against Sherlock's. "By all means, let's head back to the hotel." John stood, reaching his hand out to the detective to pull him up. Sherlock put his coat on, concealing his pale chest once more. Hand in hand, they walked back to the village.


End file.
